


In the Aftermath

by Kikimay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Death, First Time, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 09:04:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10408695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kikimay/pseuds/Kikimay
Summary: Lucius is dying and his son, Draco, spends his lonely days taking care of him. After the funeral, he will receive a surprising visit from his old Hogwarts rival.Written for the "Salt and Pepper Fest" on hp_goldenage (LJ). Based on the prompt: Lucius is dying, Draco finally comes out to him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, I wrote about the romance between Harry and Draco in the context of Draco's relationship with his own father. I wanted something emotional for the characters and I wanted to explore the father/son dynamic inside the Malfoy family. I hope the result is satisfactory. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. <3

 

  
The bedroom was located on the ground floor, in the west area of the Manor, well lit and not too damp for the standards of that huge, old building. In the past it was used to house servants, later adapted for the guests and then for the masters themselves.  
  
Heavy curtains made of green brocade darkened the windows, the bed took up almost the entire available space. Between sheets and pillows, a sleeping form was laying, face whitened by age and almost motionless, except for the rhythmic faint breath animating his chest.  
  
Lucius Malfoy, last patriarch of the Malfoy house.  
  
“Why don’t we light this darkness a little, shall we?” Draco murmured, shutting the door behind him.  
  
Deftly, he dodged the trolley full of medical potions and pointed his wand at the curtains. A blade of light cut the room in half.  
  
Draco reached his Father’s bedside. Buried among the roughened sheets, Lucius let out a suffering groan.  
  
“Good morning, Father.”  
  
Thinning hair like feathers and the vacuous, distant eyes.  
  
Draco lifted his father’s head and straightened the pillows behind it with a delicate gesture.  
  
“How are you feeling this morning?” he asked, very softly. His father was now sensitive to harsher sounds. “It’s such a beautiful day.”  
  
Lucius moaned.  
  
*  
  
Next to the bedroom, a tiny closet had been rearranged to serve as a toilet, six months after Mother passed and Lucius’ condition worsened. Draco had to abandon his everyday life and return to his childhood home to take care of him.  
  
Since then, he had established a routine of meals, rest and care, not without difficulties.  
  
“Is it good today, isn’t?” he asked, trying to lure his old father’s precarious attention. Lucius was still stubbornly pursing his lips. “Don’t you want to talk?”  
  
The St. Mungo’s Healer had emphasized the importance of dialogue in the fight to preserve Lucius’ cognitive abilities.  
  
“We could go out, you know? We could take a walk in the garden, it’s not that cold outside.”  
  
Lucius let his uncertain gaze wander around the room, before pointing it in the direction of the windows. A swallow was hopping on the windowsill.  
  
“Oh, I see. You spotted a little bird. That’s nice.”  
  
Lucius kept staring at the swallow, shaking his head at every hop. A gentle hand landed on his neck and a caress brushed the hair falling on his face.  
  
*  
  
After a light meal, Draco pushed the wheelchair on the terrace over the main hall. There he knew he could spend a few moments in solitary reflection, while his father observed the horizon.  
  
Around teatime, he served the snack.  
  
“And why have you never married?” Lucius asked, his mouth full of pear smoothie.  
  
Draco side-eyed him.  
  
“I don’t understand you, Draco.”  
  
“Father, please. Not the same argument once again.”  
  
Few notions now occupied his old father’s mind; the most important was his obsessive desire to see his only son married. His only son, who insisted on staying single, apparently.  
  
“The family name is what matters. Preserving our blood, continuing the tradition,” the Malfoy patriarch preached, dodging the spoon that his son was trying to bring to his lips. “And look! You’re an old man now!”  
  
Draco blushed and could not resist the temptation of looking down to examine the state of his appearance. He was no longer a twenty-year-old young debutant, certainly, but he wasn’t that decrepit or out of shape.  
  
“You should’ve got married when it was your time! You should have had accepted young Greengrass’ proposal,” Lucius insisted. “Her views were questionable, her talent as a witch mediocre, but you would have had children with her, a family! What do you have now?”  
  
Draco stirred the smoothie and tried with a new spoonful.  
  
“It seems a bit late for such qualms. Many years have passed, Astoria is a married woman.”  
  
“You could be married too. You still have money, don’t you? And you could still have a son, to carry our name and take care of you when you’ll get older.”  
  
“Just like I’m doing right now, Father. For you,” Draco pointed out, bitterly.  
  
Lucius didn’t seem to care about his tone, as he continued to dodge the approaching spoon.  
  
“I will die without the joy of seeing my heirs. Knowing you are alone and miserable!”  
  
“There is no need to be so dramatic.”  
  
“What will happen to this house? What of all our ancestors built?”  
  
“No idea,” Draco exhaled, pushing forcefully the spoon against the closed mouth.  
  
Lucius gave him a shocked look. Then he beat vigorously his son’s hand, causing him to drop the spoon.  
  
“You let me down, Draco!” He crooned, covering his ears with his bony hands. “You let me down!  _Bad son! Bad!”_  
  
Draco clenched his jaw and stood up, unmindful of his father’s lamentations and the pear on the floor. He ran into the living room.  
  
He already knew that Lucius had bad days. He was old and very, very tired. Every so often, this fatigue became unbearable and his nerves gave way, like those of a weary child. Draco had to be patient. He had to remember: his duties, the memory of his beloved mother, the …  
  
Clinging to a table, the wizard swallowed the lump in his throat and looked at his grey eyes in the mirror before him. He missed Mother so much. She wouldn’t have allowed Lucius to tell him such awful things.  
  
The stream of consciousness stopped abruptly as it had begun. It wasn’t useful to let these sort of thoughts crowd his mind, it wasn’t productive. Draco summoned all his determination, abandoning the table. He fixed up his clothes and took another deep breath before returning to the terrace.  
  
His father had stopped fidgeting and was staring at him, frightened.  
  
“You were gone … you left me.”  
  
“I’m here, Father,” he replied, wiping the floor with a wave of the wand. “I’ve tired you with the snack, haven’t I?”  
  
Lucius’ lips curled into a pitiful pout.  
  
“Yes! Yes, I was tired.”  
  
“I know. Forgive me, I didn’t realise.”  
  
The old man stretched out a hand and his pleading eyes sought those of his son. It was his way of apologising; Draco knew that. The arrogant and majestic man of his youth had become fragile.  
  
“Forgive me, Father,” he repeated more gently.  
  
Lucius gave him a smile.  
  
*  
  
“Do you still see Potter?”  
  
The sun had set. Lucius had asked to be taken back to the room before the usual hour and sighed happily, as Draco arranged the pillows behind him.  
  
“Sorry?”  
  
“Harry Potter! You talk about him all the time.”  
  
“I don’t.”  
  
“I know he may seem bright and interesting at the moment, but you must remember his place and yours. It’s a mistake to favour him so blatantly! You’ll see what bitter surprise Dumbledore will have, when his beloved protégé will prove himself as a fraud! Mark my words.”  
  
“Father …” Draco sighed, a little relieved. “It’s been years, decades in fact, since I’ve set foot on Hogwarts’ grounds. I’m not a student anymore, I’m a grown man and even  _Harry_  … Potter is a grown man. I stopped talking about him long ago.”  
  
Lucius frowned.  
  
“But I hear you, talking about him … telling me about his new broomstick and his hair.”  
  
“When I was a child, not anymore.”  
  
“You just told me, that everyone thinks he’s special …”  
  
Draco shook his head.  
  
“I did, once. It’s been years now, Father. I’m not attending Hogwarts anymore. You’ve got confused, it happens.”  
  
“It felt like you just told me though.”  
  
Draco bent down to kiss him goodnight.  
  
“I know, and you listened. We’ll discuss it tomorrow, okay? Rest now.”  
  
As he closed the curtains, a small blue flame lighted the room. Draco shut the door and went to his room.  
  
In a box on the desk, he kept a photo. It was a shot with a Muggle camera and he had managed to snatch it during the last year at Hogwarts. It portrayed a smiling Harry Potter, in the Room of Requirement.  
  
Draco stroked the line of the jaw, shadowed by the flash, and brought the photo to his lips. Then he hid it again, among the forgotten objects of his childhood.  
  
*  
  
The following weeks proceeded in the usual routine. Caring for Lucius had become easier, almost automatic, as his stern father became more compliant, even affectionate at times.   
  
“I’m tired today. I feel sleepy.”  
  
Draco frowned.  
  
“You slept an hour before lunch. Are you sure you’re tired?”  
  
“I want to sleep more, Draco. Please, please … let me sleep. Take me back to my room.”  
  
“Alright. We’re going to rest,” he assured, pushing the wheelchair from the garden to the bedroom.  
   
Lucius quickly fell asleep and Draco watched him for a few moments, pondering. Then, he reached the fireplace and asked to get in contact with St. Mungo’s.  
  
As suspected, his father’s health was worsening. His body was weaker and especially his magic was dying out like a candle in a freezing room. Draco obtained the support of a Healer and two house elves, who moved to Malfoy Manor to help him deal with Lucius.  
  
Some old friends, Pansy and Blaise, came to visit. Greg came for a bit, filling Draco’s heart with unexpected joy. The war, Azkaban and time almost destroyed the old childhood friend who, however, didn’t cease to be faithful to him.  
  
With the house elves busy handling daily chores, Draco could sit at his father’s bedside and spend with him all the time they had left.   
  
“It’s such a pleasant day,” he muttered, clutching a bony hand in his own. “Spring is almost coming.”  
  
Lucius’ eyelids barely moved. All he did now was breathe.  
  
“I’m sorry, Father. I’m sorry that I never … married, I suppose. I know you would have wanted me to, but that would have been unfair to the chosen woman and I didn’t want to … I didn’t want to cause any more pain to another person and to myself.”  
  
Two big tears dashed on the covers.  
  
“I can’t give heirs to this family, I could have never.”  
  
His father’s hand grew tighter around his.   
  
“I should have told you, but … you would have been so upset and Mother agreed that it was unnecessary, so I never did. I wanted to, but I never did.”  
  
Tears flowed his view and Draco tried to clean his face, but the hand holding him wouldn’t let go.  
  
“Father? Are you awake? Are you listening?”  
  
“Draco …”  
  
“I’m here,” Draco whimpered, wiping his face as much as he could, getting closer to Lucius’ sleeping profile. His cloudy eyes were half-open.   
  
“Draco … are you here?”  
  
“Yes, I am. I needed to make sure you were fine.”  
  
“Fine,” repeated Lucius in a dreaming tone. “Where’s your mother?”  
  
“She’ll be here. Soon.”  
  
“Tell her that I miss her, tell her that she was the only one that mattered to me. I’m sorry for the pain she had to endure, I’m sorry they disrespected her. She and you, Son. My son. I let him threat you and endanger your life … I put you in such danger! But I called for you, I begged the Dark Lord …”  
  
“Father, don’t …”  
  
“I told him to please …  _my son! My only son!_ ” Lucius pressed their hands together and pulled Draco closer to him. He opened his eyes wide, as if he suddenly wanted to remain very awake. He frowned, shiny tears fell on his chin. “My Draco …”  
  
“You don’t have to worry anymore. The war is long gone, we’re safe now.”  
  
“Are you?”  
  
“Yes, Father. I’m safe.”  
  
“I’m so glad to hear that, Son, I was so worried,” he murmured, cloudy eyes and bony hands tending to him. “My darling son.”  
  
He lived for the next twelve hours. The St Mungo’s healer sat close to Draco as he said his final goodbye. The body was moved to the mausoleum where the entire Malfoy family was buried.   
  
*  
  
In the following days, Draco took care of what he could; the funeral, the medical assistance he still needed to pay, the house. Finally, he conceded himself to a long day of rest.  
  
*  
  
In the morning, Draco was awakened by the bright glare of a Patronus. He rose from the bed; a shudder ran through him, as he realized he had fallen asleep above the covers, without a heating spell.  
  
He went to the bathroom to wash his face. He didn’t care about combing his hair and just tied it on the back of his neck. He drank a glass of water and went down the stairs, following the Patronus. He walked in the garden, where the wizard was waiting for him.  
  
The beautiful white stag flashed one last time before disappearing in the air, revealing Harry Potter still in his ministerial uniform, accompanied by a young assistant.  
  
Draco raised his eyebrows.  
  
“Welcome to my home, Auror Potter. What do I owe your visit to?”  
  
Harry seemed embarrassed as he scratched the back of his neck. He turned to the boy next to him.  
  
“It’s all right, Fred. You can go, I’ve got this.”  
  
Draco considered the boy’s trusting expression, his courtly nod. Potter always had the aura of a leader, of a teacher. He was the best Auror the Wizarding World had ever known and he would have been a good father, if only he had chosen to have children.  
  
Once alone, Harry approached.  
  
His hair, sprinkled with grey and white here and there, was still untamed. A hint of beard looked good on his handsome face. He hadn’t stopped wearing his silly glasses and his uniform was unbuttoned at the neck, in spite of the rules.  
  
Draco often wondered how he even managed to get accustomed to the English social fabric at all.  
  
“I came to pay my respects. I’m very sorry for your loss.”  
  
*  
  
They reached the mausoleum behind the Manor, walking side by side in silence. In there, seventeen generations of Malfoy were buried. Now Lucius was buried, next to his beloved Narcissa.   
  
Draco sat down on the bench before the tombs of his parents, Harry created a floral wreath to put alongside other funeral homages.  
  
“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”  
  
“I’m glad you appreciate it. Hermione taught me the spell, I didn’t really have time to buy … I’m sorry, I shouldn’t say this to you.”  
  
“It doesn’t matter.”  
  
Harry looked at his tiny griseous wreath, not the greatest wizarding floral creation in history, and then turned to Draco who was staring in silence, pale hands clasped together in his lap.  
  
“Could I sit a moment with you?” he asked.   
  
“Would you?” Draco frowned. “Yes … I suppose. Be my guest.”  
  
Harry sat next to him. He took a moment of silent reflection for himself, before engaging in a non-committal attempt of small talk.   
  
“How are you feeling?”   
  
“ _Rested_ ,” Draco replied too soon. He turned on the other side, frowning again. “Like time is going slower. I can’t really explain though and I meant rested because …”  
  
“It was hard work to take care of your father and you did it alone.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I didn’t come here to judge. I just want to be kind to you in this trying time.”  
  
“I suppose you’re not the one to carry grudges against your enemies.”  
  
“No, I am not,” Harry replied, glorious squared jaw clenching proudly.   
  
Draco secretly smiled at himself and his ability to irritate the Chosen One. Harry spotted his expression and dropped his shoulders in defeat.  
  
“I truly am,” he exhaled.  
  
“I know. And I’m thankful to see you.”  
  
They shared a moment of comfortable silence, before starting over with the conversation.   
  
“When Sirius … when my godfather died,” Harry explained, “I felt a burst of incredible rage going through me. I remember screaming and trashing Dumbledore’s office. Everything was loud and painful, too hard to bear. Then it subsided and sadness happened, but first it was rage for me.”  
  
“Did you really trash the Headmaster’s office?”  
  
“I did, yeah. What about you?”  
  
Draco blushed.  
  
“I don’t feel like destroying anything at the moment. Father was very old and very ill and I knew his days were about to end. I was ready for a long time.”  
  
“Yes, yeah. It’s silly of me to compare the situations … I was a teenager back then and it was my first true experience with the death of a loved one. I didn’t remember losing my parents, I grew up with a sense of loss inside me, but I didn’t know about that kind of exit wound.”  
  
The Slytherin’s eyes popped open, as if he was waking up from a strange dream.  
  
“You came here for my mother too, although I wasn’t there to see. Pansy told me. You were always respectful of her and of me, despite everything that happened; I don’t know how to reciprocate this courtesy. I don’t believe I have the means.”  
  
“I’m not asking for anything,” Harry replied in a hurry. “I don’t … I … could I offer my friendship right now? Would that be wrong?” he questioned, smiling at the awkwardness of his own voice. “I knew you were alone and I couldn’t stand the thought. I wanted to come here, spend time with you, before going back to my boring office work.”  
  
“I understand,” Draco replied, meditative. “You can.”  
  
“What? Spend time with you?”   
  
“That, and the friendship bit too.”   
  
*  
  
They talked about Narcissa and the months after her loss, when the pain was much worse and everything was harder for Draco. They talked about him moving into the Manor from his bachelor apartment in central London, where he spent the last thirty years of his life. They talked about him taking care of his elderly father.  
  
“It was exhausting, he needed constant care and vigilance but … at the same time, it felt like the right thing to do. I didn’t want strangers in our home and I’m sure they wouldn’t feel welcomed either, in this place with its history. Malfoys always stick together, and that was the whole point.”  
  
Harry grinned, staring at the rose bush in front of him. They were sitting in the gardens, now. Bees were buzzing all over the place.  
  
“I’ve always felt like it was your saving grace. You were spoiled rich assholes, but you did care for each other.”  
  
“Thank you for your assessment.”  
  
“I’m serious. You were a true family, I admired that a lot. I even envied you for that.”  
  
Draco looked at Harry’s roughened, bare hands. No rings to be spotted on his fingers.  
  
“You’ve always wanted a family, from what I understand.”  
  
“I did.”  
  
“Why didn’t you ever marry?”  
  
“Why didn’t you?” Harry echoed, amused. “I chose not to because … because of what I am, who I became. I’d wanted a family since I was a scrawny kid, but I feel like ultimately I wasn’t cut out for that. Because I’ve spent my formative years in a cupboard, maybe. Or because I still wake up in the middle of the night sweating and screaming … imagine a kid seeing that! I don’t believe it would be right. I like my independence and being alone means not endangering other people and I couldn’t bear it again. I still feel this strange need to save the Wizarding World, as you probably noticed,” he ended with a cheeky eye rolling.   
  
Draco smiled.   
  
“An incredible confession. You should be more careful, there are wizards who would pay good money for it.”  
  
“Would you?” he said. “Pay good money to know all my darkest secrets?”   
  
He pushed his upper body towards Draco in such a sensuous, casual way. His collar was open and a tiny bush of greying hair was appearing under the scarlet robes. Draco felt his blood going straight to his pubes. He took a breath, calming himself. A rush of sudden guilt cooled his spirits for good.  
  
“I couldn’t betray your trust.”   
  
“I know you wouldn’t. I get that now.”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“No, no! I am.”  
  
A roughed, scarred hand on a tapered, pale one. Fingers intertwining, thumbs brushing against knuckles.   
  
“I shouldn’t joke right now. I’m shit at this.”  
  
“No, you’re lovely,” Draco muttered, raising his grey eyes, looking at green ones.   
  
A pointy nose bumped against another and lips brushed together. Once, twice, thrice, without opening. Just pressing and pressing, very softly. Draco stared at their entwined hands and gasped. Harry put an arm around him, patting the spot below his shoulder blade.  
  
*  
  
“I never thought you could do this for me.”  
  
Harry turned around, smiling brightly as the sun. He flipped the pancakes on the plate and served them to Draco.   
  
“I’m a single man, I need to provide for myself. Don’t you know?”  
  
“Sure you do,” Draco countered, taking the first bite. Harry sat down in front of him, a hand supporting his chin and the most wondrous expression on his face. “Are you planning to stare at me as I eat?”  
  
“It’s crossing my mind, yes.”  
  
“You’re a savage, Potter. I don’t know where to begin with you.”   
  
“I have a few ideas.”  
  
Draco raised his eyebrows.  
  
“I’m sorry … it’s coming all together now and … it isn’t bothering you, right? I mean, not really. I don’t want to torment you on this day, of all the times.”  
  
_“Torment.”_  
  
“What?”  
  
“Nothing,” Draco replied, eating another bite of deliciously sugary sweetness. He arched his left brow now. “It’s fine, you can continue.”  
  
His words left Harry speechless for a long minute. He couldn’t help but chuckle.  
  
“You know, he didn’t remember much in the last few months, but he remembered you.”  
  
“Lucius?”  
  
“Yes,” he said, amused. “He remembered your large presence at Hogwarts, our skirmishes over Quidditch during the second year, how I was angry at you because you were more talented than me …”  
  
“Not true.”  
  
“True! How he bought a broom to make me race and how monothematic I was, always talking about you. Always thinking of you.”  
  
“I didn’t know,” Harry said, swallowing air.  
  
“Now you do.”  
  
“Draco …”  
  
“I didn’t need to say it out loud, but it happened and that’s the truth. We’re old enough to face the truth without hiding, right?” he asked, managing to stare straight into the Auror’s eyes despite the tears in his own. “I wish I was brave enough to tell him, but I’m not. Not a Gryffindor after all, never a Gryffindor.”  
  
“You’re very brave now.”  
  
“Not remotely,” Draco answered, bending down his head.  
  
“Yes, you are,” Harry replied forcefully. He took Draco’s hand in his own again and held it tight.  
  
*  
  
They reached for the bedroom upstairs. Everything was in order, but a hint of dust on the surfaces betrayed the lack of daily care and the true carelessness of the owner. Old books on the shelves and silver and green paper to cover the walls.  
  
The room of a true Pureblood young prince, a Slytherin son, forgotten and destroyed in time. The room of one Regulus Black, who died in a long lost war and nobody knew.  
  
Harry stilled, breathless.  
  
“If this is going to be a pity shag, Potter you can truly and properly fuck off!”  
  
“No, it’s not. Draco, it’s not. I just felt suddenly so …”  
  
_“Sad?”_  Draco viciously sneered. “You know I lived here for months, taking care of my dying Father, so excuse me if I don’t …”  
  
Harry cut his remark short by moving forward and holding Draco against him, hard and bluntly, jaw clenching in rage and desire, breath mingling on his lips.   
  
“Fuck you, Malfoy. Fuck you! I felt sad because I remember how you were just a kid in a fucking stupid war that changed your life forever. I felt sad because I have feelings for you.  _I. Have. Feelings. For. You!”_  
  
Draco stiffened. Harry pushed against him deeper and felt how soft he still was, despite the obvious lust he previously showed.  
  
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he tried, cupping Draco’s face with his two hands and kissing him softly, like he did in the gardens. “I don’t want to break your heart, especially now of all times.”  
  
He felt the resistance slowly crumbling, as he loosened his hold and gave Draco space to breath. He pushed a stray blonde curl behind his ear and kissed the spot tenderly. When Draco responded with a moan, he kissed again and again, until he felt him pressing back against him.   
  
“I want to make love to you …” Draco shushed him, tongue gently lapping his upper lip. “Draco,” he called, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss.  
  
Too soon Draco tried to move away, suddenly aware of his awful appearance, Harry held him by the wrist. He spun him around and pressed their foreheads together. He sought his lips.  
  
“Harry, I need to use the loo ...”  
  
“Don’t go! I don’t care.”  
  
“Just a moment.”  
  
Harry followed him with his eyes, as he entered the bathroom. The door closed and he waited, looking around. There were photographs of the Slytherin Quidditch team during games on the shelves. An image of Greg Goyle holding a beer and smiling without front teeth, another of Narcissa with her baby son; she was facing the camera and holding little Draco who was biting his fingertip, behind them the greenest grass and beautiful, wild sunflowers.  
  
The Auror sat down on the bed, patting the pillowcase, waiting for the water in the adjacent room to stop flowing.   
  
The bathroom door opened and Draco came back. He was wearing a black robe, with birds and emerald leaves, his hair pushed to the side and his feet bare against the cold floor. Harry smiled, holding a hand out for him.   
  
“How do you want to … do you want me to turn around or?”  
  
“No, please … please, I want to look at you. Let me look at you, Draco.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
The Slytherin walked towards the bed and Harry closed his eyes at the feeling of bare knees sinking in the mattress between his legs. Blindly, he started to unfasten the robe.  
  
“Do you truly have feelings for me?”  
  
“I do.”  
  
Draco resumed the kissing and tasted the frostbite on his lips, the sweat on his prickly neck. He recognised the signs of a recent mission on Harry’s skin and moaned, embracing him fully, holding him so close he couldn’t escape or endanger himself.  
  
They got rid of his uniform; the shirt, the pants, the socks. Harry pressed Draco on the bed and kissed his bare chest, tracing a path that went from his nipples to his rosy cock, until he was sobbing with pleasure.  
  
“Is this right? Do you want this now?”  
  
“Yes,” he sighed. “Yes, please.”  
  
Harry reached for the bottle of lube on the nightstand. He spread Draco’s legs and peppered his tired face with kisses.   
  
“If you don’t want to …”  
  
“Please, please! None of this now,” Draco shushed. “I believe I’ve waited enough, haven’t I? Start with two fingers, I’m ready … I’m ….”  
  
Harry nodded. He grabbed the bottle again, taking a generous amount of lube on the palm of his hand. He positioned himself between Draco’s legs and pressed his fingers inside him.  
  
Draco moaned, hard and long, pushing his head on the pillows and his hips against Harry’s hand. Soon, his lover ceased to be too careful and fingered him thoroughly, until he was loose enough. Then, he replaced the fingers with his cock. Draco closed his thighs around him and teared up when Harry’s mouth, opened in amazement, fell upon his.  
  
“I dreamed about this.”  
  
“Me too.”  
  
They started moving without hesitation, finally together. As the orgasm approached, they held each other so tightly it hurt.  
  
*   
  
The mausoleum was damp and cold, too cold for his miserable silky robe. Draco shivered, clenching his arms around his shoulders and rubbing the robe against his skin, in a vain attempt to warm himself.  
  
He approached the tombs of his parents, naked feet freezing on the dusty pavement, skin breaking and bleeding.   
  
“I wish I could have told you,” he whispered, tracing the golden letters of his father’s stone. “And I wish you were the kind of man to accept this, to accept what I am.”  
  
A sob escaped his chest.  
  
“I’m sorry … I’m …”   
  
He trembled, crying openly. As his knees started to give away, two strong arms circled his waist, lifting his body and pressing him against a hard chest. He recognised Harry’s smell, his mouth upon his forehead.  
  
“I woke up and you were gone. You scared me,” the Auror explained, holding him tightly.   
  
“I’m sorry … I never could … I never was …”  
  
They fell on the floor, holding each other as Harry kissed away the tears.   
  
“It’s all right, Draco. It’s all right. There’s nothing wrong with who you are, nothing wrong.”  
  
*  
  
They Apparated to the bedroom. Harry helped Draco on the bed, mindful of his bleeding feet and his shivers. He murmured a quick heating charm and went to the bathroom to fill a basin with soaped, warm water. He used both his magic and his skilled hands to clean Draco’s feet and close his wounds.   
  
A floating Patronus shone on the windows outside the room, Draco lifted his gaze.  
  
“It’s work,” Harry said, pressing a kiss on his forehead. “Just a moment,” he promised, covering him with a blanket.  
  
Draco saw him listen to the voice carried by the Patronus and create his own shining stag to run along with it, before coming back to kneel at his feet.  
  
“The kids, my Aurors. They needed a bit of help, they are so young,” he murmured, mouth curving in a pleased smile.   
  
Draco caressed the wrinkle from the right side of his lips to the nose and placed a soft kiss upon it.   
  
“You’re the most generous man I’ve ever known and I love you.”  
  
“Draco …”  
  
“I needed to tell you, even if it’s just once.”  
  
Green eyes widened so expressively in the darkness.  
  
“I think I might love you too,” Harry confessed, pushing back the stray hair covering Draco’s face, gifting him with another tender smile before pressing their lips together once again.  
  
Draco’s cheekbones were still damp from the previous crying, but his mouth was warm and welcoming. When Harry slid a tentative hand under his robe, his body responded beautifully to his touch, just as it did before.  
  
“Harry, I’m not sorry to be with you now.”  
  
“Neither am I.”  
  
“I know things were expected from me, such as carry on the family traditions and marry a woman. But I could never lie to myself like that. I realise I’m not the son my Father wanted, but I’m also the one who loved him with anything I had. And, Harry, being now with you makes me feel like …”  
  
“Me too,” the Auror replied, stroking his face ever so softly. “It’s what I’m feeling too. I’m not sorry for spending the night with you, I could never be. There isn’t another place in this world I’d rather be.”  
  
Suddenly they exchanged a wholesome, happy grin, despite the tears falling from their eyes. Harry stood up and helped them both into bed. He pushed the covers around their bodies and caressed the shining hair tickling his fingertips.  
  
“I’m going to take good care of you, I promise.”  
  
“Harry …”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“What about your kids? What did they want?”  
  
A soft kiss on the brow, lips curving in a grin and hands clasping together under the roughened sheets. Slowing breaths, smell of dust and approaching dawn.  
  
“I’m going to tell you everything about that, in the morning. Sleep now, my love.”

 


End file.
